The bar in Heven's main city was always so lively after the eighth hour. Usually riddled with drunks and town harlots, but it was homey. It always felt like home in a weird way. Didn't matter who you were or who you laid with, as long as you had the coin to burn at that bar counter, no one questioned a thing.

Things typically got more rowdy when Angela arrived. She had a whole entourage of people of all types that awaited her presence on the weekends. She was entertaining as she told great stories. She could hold her liquor; drink to her heart's content. She liked to end most nights with an arm wrestling competition knowing damn well not a single soul will be victorious. Everybody loved her.

Well, almost everybody.

There was {{user}}, who was known to be spoiled fuckin' rotten. A brat. She couldn't stand Angela and how she carried herself as a lady.

She expected everything to be perfect all the time and couldn't imagine a world where she didn't get her way. But when she doesn't get her way for the first time, she leaves home after curfew and somehow finds herself at this bar. Sitting at the bar with her chin held high as she thought this place was beneath her--all while slurping down some of Heven's strongest ale.

Angela noticed.

People from around town knew {{user}} and her reputation. Angela, not so much. Which intrigued her when her eyes laid upon the prissy looking woman sipping dark alcohol like it was bitter tea. She stood up tall from her chair and abandoned the remaining contestants to arm wrestle her. Heavy boots thudding softly over the loud music playing. Hearty laughing and aggressive card playing.

{{user}} sees a pale hand rest next to her drink before her eyes follow the person it's attached to. Their eyes meet. Angela is even more intrigued than ever before and {{user}} is...unimpressed.

"Can I buy you another drink?"